


Living in the Moment

by Senora_Luna



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bad Ending, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senora_Luna/pseuds/Senora_Luna
Summary: Once again Ernesto de la Cruz seized his moment. He sucessfully kept the living boy hidden away until he could die so no one could learn his terrible secret of how he had achieved success. Now comes the aftermath, for both him and his new "great-great-grandson".Alternate Ending: if Dante never found Miguel and Héctor in the cenote.





	Living in the Moment

* * *

“What a show Señor de la Cruz!” The young stagehand exclaimed the moment Ernesto handed over his mic, and waited patiently to have the wires unhooked from his belt. Well, “young” was a foolish thing to consider. Just because the boy had died at 18, didn’t change he’d been dead since 1902, objectively making him Ernesto’s senior.

“Despite it all somehow,” it wasn’t really a reply as much as a curse. Oh his ‘familia’ had been wonderful, but it nagged in the back of his head through the entire set of Sunrise Spectacular that his new biological family was waiting across town, in a pit.

But he’d have time to consider that later, for now he plastered his smile back, just like he did his bangs into his oiled hair. “Thank you! And here I was afraid Frida’s act would scare some away before I even began-the whole, what was it, fruit on fire thing.”

“Oh never Señor! I think the only other thing that could have convinced people to leave your concert would have been that rumor about a living person. Had everyone out trying to catch a glance.”

“Oh…yes I met him briefly.” Ernesto turned toward him finding the perfect mix of sympathy and concern for his face. “Somehow got into my party, but then-ran off with some fading man.”

“You mean it was true?”

“Sadly so,” it actually was sad he considered, that boy was truly young, unlike the elderly skeleton in a boy’s body before him. “I asked my staff to try and find him, return him to the department of arrivals.”

“Oh Gods hoping they do! It’s been decades since I heard of anyone alive getting into this part of the Land of the Dead.”

“Yes we can only hope for the best.” And so he did.

In less than an hour, once changed from his dazzling white charro to a simple, yet indicative outfit of his death period, Ernesto stood at the top of the cenote, sighing impatiently as his staff lowered the rope into the pit to retrieve his now surely dead great-great-grandson. Any other night he could have waited, calmed the child, but the boy just had to appear on the night of his biggest concert of the year.

When Alfredo was pulled up from the pit, the small skeleton hanging from his arm, he hadn’t expected the sight to affect him. Dead children were everywhere. It just happens. It’s not so tragic anymore when you’re used to the fact death isn’t some Hellish pit of suffering or boring paradise of clouds and singing angels. But, no he’d never watched a child go from flesh to bone, and it somehow incited something in him he’d thought died long ago.

Suddenly he didn’t know what to say at all. He should be relieved, all had gone as planned-but he hadn’t really planned this had he? He hadn’t even considered what he would say when saw the boy-no Miguel. Normally these kind of these things came to him on the spot, his mind worked best that way or surely he’d overthink it.

Miguel was set to his feet, wobbling on his new frame of pure bone that lacked muscular support like he’d been dropped on a layer of ice. And when those large, now intensely large without flesh sockets to hold them, brown eyes looked up; Ernesto desperately wished he had planned to say something to his new family.

Miguel on the other hand had several things come to mind-all of them would have gotten him grounded had his family ever heard. The sight of Ernesto put the pain to a stop and white hot anger rushed in. Had dying been the source? No, he hadn’t really taken much notice of the exact moment his flesh had faded completely, he was too absorbed in his grief for Hèctor. Hèctor, his real family, who had only tried to help him the entire night was but a pile of dust down below. But Miguel could not begin to dwell on that-he couldn’t handle it, instead the fury exploded as he wildly waved his new fragile arms to free himself from the security man’s hold, and waved one of those arms in Ernesto’s direction.

“You càbron!”

Ernesto nearly scowled. That was just rude-well-no-okay, fair this had been a little abrupt. And this was a real child, not an old man in guise of a child. He’d had to make a decision and leave for curtain call. So maybe the boy was feeling a little slighted.

“Miguel, I know this is a confusing time-“

“How-how could you! I hate you! You killed Hèctor!”

“Now you’re jumping to conclusions again, a movie is just a movie-“

“No! He’s gone! He-he vanished!” And all the charm Ernesto had slid off his face like an icy slope. No he hadn’t dared think of Hèctor for…well maybe twenty years since last evening. Not that years nor seasons, really mattered here, save for the coming and going of Dia De Muertos no one would keep track. He couldn’t be truly forgotten could he?

There was no time for that now, he had a hysterical recently deceased real child in front of him with a potentially loud mouth.

“Miguel,” and Ernesto knelt to his height, “I know this has been an exhausting evening for you, and I hate it had to come to this. But you and I, we’re family. And I want to tell you, for our bloodline, the Land of the Dead is sadly a lonely place. We need to support each other.” It wasn’t a complete lie now was it? There was something very precious about finally having someone he could tolerate and call his own family. A family that couldn’t be lost if he butchered a performance.

Miguel stopped himself from throwing a smack at the brilliant white skull before him. Everything was wrong, he had spent the last hours weeping alone in the cenote-and when too tired for that, imagining how good it would feel to kick and wave his fists at de la Cruz for all of this. He had completely forgotten no one knew he wasn’t Ernesto’s great great grandson. And like he knew when staying out of trouble with his real family, he could only guess the same applied for a murdering monster: the less he knew the better. What if he would grind him to dust the same way Hèctor had vanished? What if he locked him away forever in a pit?! It was a panicking idea-but he found enough resolve to nod even as his bones trembled. Perhaps so long as he believed them related he was safe from further harm.

“I’m so sorry it had to be this way, but I have the greatest afterlife you could have ever dreamt available for you.” Ernesto added attempting to put on that charming smile again. Miguel resisted the chance to argue. If he was clever he could find a way to escape de la Cruz, then find Màma Imelda and his real family. Then he’d find a way home…surely.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Ernesto extended a bony hand out to him, and it was hard to forget just a few hours ago this man had been his greatest idol and hero. Reluctantly Miguel took his hand, crushing down whatever rage that instead wanted to rip his boney arm from the socket. He let himself be led along like a child much younger than he was, away from the barren land surrounding the cenote to the grand mansion he had been whisked around during the party. Ernesto started chattering on about something, in a tone Miguel was all too aware was meant to distract him, keep him calm, while he spoke about how many rooms existed he’d yet to see, and what sort of fun and pleasures were available to him. But he wasn’t very aware of whatever Ernesto was saying, he instead was momentarily struck by the sunlight over the Land of the Dead.

It occurred to him he’d stayed awake all night, something he hadn’t ever done unless he was sick. In the back of his mind he could hear his family’s scoldings, imagine their insistence he go to sleep, but it wouldn’t have to be a lie to tell them he felt no exhaustion at all. Instead all was strangely static, he barely felt the moment at all, somehow existing with both endless energy and the desire to not move at all. He surely missed a few moments Ernesto said something to him, awaiting a response because he only noticed the sudden gap of silence except their shoes, followed by Ernesto making some sort of forced laugh. His surroundings were blurred colors, he was all too anxious to find out where he was being led, and if it involved some massive deadlock that would hide away his bony body for the rest of eternity.

Shockingly, it didn’t. Instead it was a lush room with a dazzling fire place much like the parlor they’d been singing in what felt like years ago. Despite his lack of muscle he was aware just how soft the carpet felt beneath his feet as he trod into the space, and then hid his excitement at the sight of a window behind a pair of brilliant shimmering silk curtains. There was a bed in the far corner of the room, it was small and less ornate than expected, like an after thought to the luxurious room. Did the dead even sleep? The question barely passed his mind before Miguel reminded himself he couldn’t be “dead” yet-he just couldn’t.

“You’ll have to forgive the lack of amusement,” Ernesto began, that same awkwardness returning to his tone, “I don’t usually entertain anyone so young,”

_I'm not five,_ Miguel nearly asserted, not interested in any sort of patronization from this monster but his wit caught him again. Let De la Cruz think him helpless. It would make his escape all the easier.

“Ah but you play guitar, come we should go to my music room I have hundreds, you can choose anyone you like-“

“I’m too tired” Miguel blurted, catching De la Cruz off guard as he finally broke his silence. Earlier in the night it was the kind of offer that would have made him forget going home in the first place. But now, in the strange state of focused disconnect his only goal was to get alone with that window. For a moment Ernesto nearly looked embarrassed, or what Miguel supposed was so for a monster like him.

“Of course, you must want some rest, we can wait until you’re refreshed just ring the bell.” Miguel wondered if he was daring to make some sort if joke until he noticed a tiny bell on some sort of pulley system ring. He’d seen them in old films, they were meant to contact servants. It was a keen reminder of the bizarre world he’d stepped into, and in a mixture of his shock and anger he couldn’t hold back a comment.

“Doesn’t it remind you of your death?” Ernesto’s already tense smile twitched. This kid, certainly had to be his descendent, he had plenty of…gumption to speak as pointedly as he did.

“I don’t keep one in my room. And avoid the room where they go off. It’s for guests…” he’s a real child. Children ask foolish things all the time. No reason to hold it against him. After all the boy had yet to do any real damage so long as he was kept contained.”Not that I mind them so much anymore, your death becomes more mundane as time goes on you’ll see.” Ernesto added placing a bony hand on Miguel’s shoulder.

Miguel resisted recoiling. The bones which he’d ignored in his glee earlier now were so pointed, so hard against him. He must not be truly dead if he could still discern what an uncomfortable sensation bone on bone was. The silence returned, Ernesto’s decorum faltering to a more clearly forced smile, how tightly it strung on his face.

“Well, when you’re ready for more let me know, and don’t be afraid to ask questions. It always takes a little time to adjust.” He patted Miguel, then made his exit as swiftly as his attempt at friendliness would allow.

Christ, he hadn’t been able to keep the kid quiet before and now he was silent as the grave. Perhaps this was the literal meaning. He’d never nursed a recently deceased child into the afterlife before, maybe this was standard. Maybe he was just being a troublesome little boy from what Héctor put in his head. Héctor: the thought stopped his tracks in the hallway. Héctor, forgotten? He longed to shake off the thought, but it stung in the back of his mind like a pounding headache. It must be a mistake. The cenote was huge, and he’d had every intention to pacify his old friend from such a wild idea of murder before after he’d calmed his great-great-grandson.

There was only one way to be sure. He reluctantly turned down the steps, changing his course back to the cenote.

Miguel felt a burst of energy invigorate him the moment Ernesto closed the door. He stood rooted, hearing his steps fade assuredly before he nearly bolted across the room to the window. Ironically he could borrow a trick from one of de la Cruz’s films, wind up the bed sheets into a rope, and then climb his way to freedom! It brought a cunning smile to his face, he’d use the monster’s tricks against him! Carelessly he ripped back the curtains, unhinged the bolt, and thew open the double glass panes to escape!

The breath knocked out of his frame from the view. He was not two stories, several meters up like he planned. In his distain for de la Cruz he hadn’t paid attention how high up they rode the elevator. It couldn’t be the top floor but oh, it had to be close. The ground was hardly visible, a blur of colors and tiny ant sized skeletons pacing around the entrance. Miguel had never been afraid of heights, climbing the roof was a past time, but the sheerness of this drop, the certainty it would leave his bones shattered like a dropped vase made him stagger back with sickness.

Trapped. He was trapped.

 


End file.
